


One Hundred Eighty

by catwalksalone



Series: Lost and Found 'verse [7]
Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Rimming, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio's had a bad day. Kowalski helps make it better. With puns. Bad puns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hundred Eighty

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Lost and Found 'verse fic. It fits in between When Borders Bleed and The Power of Grace. Can, of course, be read as a standalone. Thanks to [](http://zellieh.livejournal.com/profile)[**zellieh**](http://zellieh.livejournal.com/) for lightning beta. Written for the birthday of the amazing **slidellra** in July, 2007.

Ray is mad.

"Affanculo!"

He slams his hands hard against the much-dinged vending machine. It rocks violently, a perfect mirror of his emotions. It wasn't supposed to go down like that. The case was supposed to be watertight. He shoves away to find something else to maim, leaving the machine to sway itself to a standstill. The hot chocolate will never taste quite the same again.

"Hey, hey, hey!" comes a voice from behind, half-amused, half-concerned. "Don't you know more people die from vending machine accidents than wolf attacks every year?"

Ray finds his way barred by a smiling Kowalski. Breathing deep and clenching and unclenching his fists automatically, the words finally register on him. Ray blinks. "Who told you that? Benny?"

"No, C.J." Kowalski's smile widens.

"Okay," says Ray, feeling the red-hot rage dissipating a little. "Let's go through this _one more time_. The West Wing is a fictional universe. There is no C.J. and no President Bartlett either. This is a shame, on both counts."

"So no Sam then," says Kowalski. "Though I'm totally willing to do something with suspenders and disbelief on that one. Your point?"

"My point is, you dweeb," says Ray, letting himself be steered out of the station, "that they make stuff up. What the hell do they care about the wolf versus vending machine fatality statistics?"

"But you're an expert, right?"

"I'm an expert in getting you to shut your mouth."

"Thought you were an expert in making me open it?"

Ray slumps into the GTO; his wrists ache. He's thankful it's Kowalski's turn to drive. "How did we get from vending machines to your mouth on my dick?" he asks.

Kowalski shrugs and flashes him his best wolf-smile. "Dunno. But it's where we always end up. Or, you know, in the neighborhood. Six Degrees of Detective Dick."

Ray snorts. "Asshole."

"That's no degrees. You're not playing fair."

Kowalski guns the engine as Ray slides down a little in his seat and chortles. They play 'Six Degrees' all the way home.

~

"We're out of milk."

"Wanna stop by the store now or you want I should get some later?"

"I know who'll be getting some later."

"So predictable."

~

"You been wading through sewers or something?"

"You saying I stink?"

"I'm saying that you're the odor equivalent of Rocky Five."

There's some animated sniffing of available body parts and pieces of clothing. Ray's hopeful Kowalski's contortions won't end in a wreck.

"Yeah, fine. You got a point. I'll grab a shower."

"And I'll grab your ass."

"Ooh, nice."

~

"We going to Frannie's this Saturday?"

"Yeah, the whole family. She says she has news."

"Pregnant?"

"Probably."

"Cool. At least she has the in-house gynecologist now."

"I can examine you if you like. Pull over."

"Patience, my young padawan. Your time will come." Kowalski flicks a glance towards Ray. "And so will you."

"Touché."

~

Kowalski hustles Ray and a couple of sacks of groceries through the door, practically shoves him down on the couch. Before Ray knows it his jacket and shoes have been removed, tie loosened, there's a beer in his hand, a muted Spanish tele-novela on the TV and he's watching K hopping from foot to foot in the bedroom doorway trying to take off his boots without undoing the laces. _Same thing every day_, thinks Ray. _Sooner or later he'll do himself an injury_.

He watches with affection and rising interest as K proceeds to get naked. He disappears into the bathroom and Ray's a little disappointed. Not for long, as naked-Kowalski reappears, toothbrush poking out of his mouth, and walks over to the counter, rummaging through a paper sack with one hand and scratching his stomach with the other, completely unselfconscious. It makes Ray's insides twist into interesting patterns and his heart (and other places) swell. He touches the cool beer bottle to his lips as he watches Kowalski retrieve the shower gel and wander back off to the bathroom. He doesn't look Ray's way at all. Ray's more than a little disappointed. So's Little Ray (not so little now).

He follows K's progress via clanks and creaks, splashes, squelches and random muttering. Then all is quiet except for the insistent, soft drumming of water on skin. It's hypnotizing and Ray is startled when K yells, "I'm gonna die alone here, or what? There was an ass-grabbing thing you promised."

Ray doesn't need asking twice. He's on his feet and in through the bathroom door. There's a reply on his lips but it dies as he sees the cubicle door wide open and K leaning back against the wall, languid. Hard. Touching himself as the water forms streams and rivulets down his body.

"Get in here."

Ray's found his attitude towards clothing has had to change since hooking up with Kowalski. In seconds today's suit is chucked into the corner without sparing more than a baby pang for creases. He steps into the shower and into K's arms. Ray is hungry for this. He takes K's face in his hands and kisses him, hard and heavy but he's not the one in control here, K is, and he puts his hands on Ray's face, gently pulling him back a fraction of an inch, easing off the gas, kissing Ray as if they have all the time in the world. Which they do.

Ray gets into the rhythm of it and drops his hands to K's hips, rocking into him, dick sliding smoothly against wet skin. K mirrors his action and it's hot, goddammit, so hot and maybe they don't have all the time in the world after all because Ray's going to pop if they keep this up. He leans into K, grabs his hands and lifts them, slamming them against the wall. He hears the click of the bones in K's wrist and that's when he realizes his own wrists don't ache anymore. And then he realizes that he's feeling good, he's feeling great. In fact his mood has been completely turned around. He squeezes K's hands and pulls away from his lips just enough to say, "You know exactly what you're doing."

"Trying to get off before the water gets cold?"

"Your mouth on my dick?"

"Or somewhere in the neighborhood."

Oh hell, K is in control all right. In one swift movement that proves he's a seasoned cop he has Ray facing the wall, legs spread, hands above his head. In support, not surrender, although Ray's not entirely sure about that. Hands slide easily down Ray's sides and then over his ass as he feels K sink to his knees behind him. Maybe it's with the water in mind but K wastes no time and Ray feels his tongue, flat and warm against his opening. He holds it for a couple of seconds until Ray wriggles backwards, demanding without words, then he begins to move his tongue up and down, massaging, soothing, relaxing one part of Ray at the same time as driving another part of him wild. K speeds up. Short, firm licks alternate with delicate, teasing touches and then his tongue darts inside, licking and stroking, turning Ray inside out.

Streams of garbled English and Italian endearments and curses mingle and gush from Ray's mouth, joining the water cascading over his body. He's shaking now and futilely trying to cling to the water-slick tiles. It's going to be over for him any second now and he wants K to be inside him when he comes.

"Gotta fuck me now," he manages to get out. He almost regrets this as K's tongue retreats but there isn't enough time because he can hear K flipping open the cap of the shower gel and then one arm is wrapped around his waist, the other hand covering one of Ray's and his blunt, slicked-up head is pushing at Ray's hole. Gotta hand it to the guy, he's very obliging when he isn't being a contrary son-of-a-bitch. Smells good too.

It's an easy slide; K knows Ray's buttons backwards and Ray's more than ready. K bites at Ray's neck as he pushes home. Ray moans, low and guttural, at the twin sharp pains, familiar and welcomed. A couple of slow strokes to test the ground and then K's hand is grasping Ray's volatile cock and matching rhythms. He appears also to grasp the urgency because suddenly it seems like there's pounding everywhere, Ray's heart, his palm against the wall, the water, K's dick fast and sure, finding exactly the right angle. And it's too much for Ray and he's seeing sparks and little detonations are firing off inside him and he's gonna explode, he's gonna explode, he's gonna _explode_.

The water is cooling as K finds his own climax, buried deep in Ray, face pressed tight against the crook of his neck. Ray lifts his head into the spray and smiles.

"You hungry?" he asks as K pulls out and reaches for the shower gel.

"Could eat."

"Didn't you just do that?"

"Okay, can I just uninvent the fucking game?"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Nice setup. I'm not falling for it."

"Come on, Stanley, you know you want to."

They're still bickering by the time they sit down to dinner.

Ray is content.

* * *


End file.
